Soggy century

Date: July 12
Mileage: 101.8
July mileage: 371.1
Temperature upon departure: 57
Inches of rain today: 0.47"

Sometimes I look at the weather forecast and think, "Might as well go for a ride now, because it's probably not going to get any better," without taking into account the fact that it couldn't get a whole lot worse, either. But I am Jill in Juneau and I need to learn to ride in the rain and like it. So I set out in a storm precipitating at a rate of about .25" per hour, wearing my most non-breathable plastic clothing, knowing full well that I could be asking for a 100-mile-long cold shower.

The rain tapered off for most of the first half of the ride, and I thought I was in the clear. I even took off my body tarp. But all the fog north of the city set the stage for the kind of solid downpour I imagine is only possible in a rain forest. Sheets of rain pounded my back. I could only look straight down because raindrops would blind me every time I looked up. I could feel my Camelback taking on extra water. And today would have been the day to ride a century with just one water bottle. I only needed to open my mouth for a few seconds to receive all the hydration I needed. Where I come from, downpours are tolerable because they let up pretty quickly ... but that storm continued at that intensity for more than two hours nonstop. I stuck with the ride because I wanted those 100 miles, dang it, and I am Jill in Juneau and I can handle a little rain, dang it, and anyway, it wasn't bad enough to give up ... dang it. Regardless, the annoyance creeps in ... the frustrations ... the doubts.

The .47" of rain recorded is for Juneau, not where I was riding - the precipitation where I was, I'm positive, would have to be measured in full inches. But sure enough, back near city limits, the storm began to dry up. The sun even made a brief appearance. I amped up quite a bit those last 20 miles. I was stoked to be able to look ahead again, and noticed that my legs felt much stronger than I gave them credit for when I was wet and grumpy. Plus, I was pressed to get home in time to go see "Ratatouille" with my friend Brian. It closes at the theater in my tiny city soon, and today was to be my last chance. I arrived home at 5:30 p.m. sharp to this message:

"Hey Jill, this is Brian calling. I know we were talking about seeing Ratatouille tonight, but the weather got real nice and I'd rather be riding my bike. I hope you can get out tonight and enjoy some of this nice weather. Have fun. Talk to you later. Bye."

Dang.

I actually considered it, briefly, but the weather isn't that nice.

I think I may actually be able to talk Geoff into going to see a children's movie with me. He normally is only interested in going to see gut-wrenching foreign dramas, but this is one summer popcorn movie that received a sparkling review from the critic for the New York Times. Geoff won't be able to go until 9:30 p.m. (so here I sit, blogging and waiting.) Tomorrow, I have to be up at 4:30 a.m. to make the early tide if I want to (attempt to) catch some silver salmon. Then I'm supposedly seeing the 10 p.m. screening of Harry Potter tomorrow night. You know what I love best about weekends? Biking in the rain and not sleeping.

Searching for the cave

Date: July 11
Mileage: 25.1
July mileage: 269.3
Temperature upon departure: 54
Inches of rain today: 0.61"

I didn't have much time to ride today. But my knee felt stronger than usual, my legs felt fresh, and I thought it was about time I go out in search of the pain cave.

When I lived in Homer, the pain cave was not a hard place to find. With a 1,200-foot monster to tackle just to commute home from work, I was practically guaranteed a daily visit. Big climbs in Juneau are further from home, and I haven't been strong enough lately to take them with any sort of gusto. Reaching the pain cave on flats is even harder. Without resistance, riding at sea level, my lungs can outlast my legs almost any day, until I'm pumping deadly levels of lactic acid but still breathing with relative ease.

But today had the perfect combination of fresh legs, strong knee and decently fierce headwinds out on North Douglas Highway. I notched up the shifters, amped up the RPMs, and shot across the slick street. Tiny raindrops pierced like needles as my heart rate went from noticeable to inexorable. Then I mashed. I mashed faster. I mashed until I could mash no faster. And then ...

Encompassed.

It is deadly dark in the pain cave, and quiet. The pain cave swallows all the sound of even your most motivating mP3 mix and replaces it with the drip, drip, drip of labored breaths. When I go inside there, I can almost understand what it must be like to shoot into the vacuum of space - to see nothing, to feel nothing, to know nothing. The taste is increasingly metallic, like grinding your own teeth until your jaw snaps - but instead you are spinning and spinning your legs toward oblivion.

If that doesn't sound like a pleasant place, that's because it's not. But there is definitely something rewarding about drilling myself deep into the pain cave. Because eventually, I will see light flickering at the end of the tunnel. The colors outside will have never seemed so bright. Even a solid slate of rain-cloud gray will shimmer with flecks of silver and blue. There's a chance that an occasional trip through the pain cave makes me a better cyclist. I have no idea (my guess is probably not.) But I do know the feeling of seeing the world as a friendlier, warmer, more beautiful place on the other side. That's why I go inside.

Rain days are here to stay

I was hoping to hit another mountain top today or tomorrow, but the weather forecast is not looking good. It's true when they say Juneau only has two seasons ... Rainy and June. Now that June is over, I have a long season of tolerance-building ahead.

Today was a day for the gym, which I like to speak of disdainfully, but I really get a lot of benefit out of it. There's really no better way to train with weight resistance and build specific muscles that ideally will keep injury at bay. I plan to keep going at least once a week - if nothing else, to recoup some of that membership I bought during a panic attack back in April.

Rainy Season also is a good time for retail therapy. I turned to retail therapy back when I was injured and not cycling, and bought a lot of dumb stuff - like clipless pedals and short-sleeved bicycle jerseys. But my new string of purchases may prove to be a lot more rewarding. I recently received a check from the federal government that I wasn't expecting (who knew I was my own tax deduction?) This also will be my first year for the PFD check, the infamous "paid to exist" fund bestowed on every man, woman and child in the state of Alaska. A windfall of free money, and I have big plans ... including, but not limited to, a brand new bike building project!

Plans also include essential bike gear that has nothing to do with the bike, and everything to do with making it possible to ride my bike whenever and wherever I feel so inclined. My most immediate needs include neoprene socks (how oh how did I ever live without these?), a rear bike rack and a bivy sack. I'm torn on the bivy, and was wondering if there were some ultralight backpackers out there with good advice. Should I go with a warmer-but-heavier winter-specific sack, or the lightweight waterproof sack that would be tolerable where I live and terrible everywhere else?

If the forecast holds true, I'll probably spend way too much time surfing eBay for all the different options. Isn't it interesting how the act of not biking instigates a sudden and insatiable need to buy bike goodies? The wheels of the cycling economy must turn on working people whose income is inversely proportional to the time they have to ride. If all I did was ride my bike, I would probably just stick to my old and busted stuff and be happy all of my days.